The Unknown Tour
by Wonkaverse
Summary: For the first time in a long time, Mr. Wonka receives some visitors. How will he keep them from telling the world about the secrets of his factory? Rated M because it's not suitable as a bedtime story for children.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: We no own Wonka or his Oompa=loompas!

**Author's Note**: Sometimes you have to wonder how Willy Wonka would deal with unwanted visitors. Oh, if you think of someone you'd like to see meet an unfortunate ending in the factory, leave a note about it in the comment box. And as always, reviews (positive or negative) are always welcome.

* * *

_London, England_

It had been nearly a year since the great Wonka factory reopened, churning out more candies and confectionery delights than ever before. But the front gates always remained locked. No one ever went in, and no one ever came out. This troubled most people who lived in the neighborhood, who took to walking on the other side of the street when passing the forbidding factory gates. Children no longer played in front of the factory walls, having been told by their parents that the place was haunted. After all, who else could be working in the factory long after night fell? Could it be ghosts or some other kind of otherworldly beings? There was some speculation that Mr. Willy Wonka, who owned the factory, was a wizard who could run the candymaking machines in his factory using magic. Some even said he had made a compact with the devil in exchange for a successful business. The rumors, of course, were just those...rumors; though Mr. Willy Wonka was, in his own right, a magician. When it came to candy, there were no limits that he could not cross. He had no need of supernatural assistance, and had certainly not affiliated with any spiritual entity. As it later became known, his factory was run by thousands of tiny people called Oompa-loompas, who lived there with him in the factory.

Despite the rumors, there were a few people who did not see Wonka as mysterious. Sure, he was a hermit, but he was a very prosperous hermit. And prosperity meant money, which many people were eager to lay their own hands on.

It was a chance meeting, really. Bill Johnson was walking along the eastern wall of the Wonka complex when he rounded the corner, nearly crashing into the back of another man. The surprise startled him greatly, and he dropped his briefcase on the sidewalk. The other man, clad in a red and white pinstripe suit, turned when he heard the noise.

"Oh, hello sir! I didn't see you come up!" he stooped to pick up Bill's briefcase, stood up, and handed it back to its owner. "I'm Robert Shoeman, by the way." he extended a hand, and Bill shook it warmly.

"Bill Johnson."

"Ah, I've heard of you! You sell insurance, don't you?"

Bill had been smiling, but his lips straightened somewhat at the question. "Why, yes I do. How did you know?"

Robert pulled a pamphlet from the pocket of his plaid jacket. "I happen to be in the business as well. I'm not doing very well in this neighborhood, though...apparently a majority of the locals have already purchased insurance from you."

Bill nodded condescendingly. "Yes, yes...it helps to have been in the business for a few years. I assume that you've transferred into the area from another firm?"

"Why yes!" Robert looked surprised, or at least did a very good job of pretending to be surprised. "You are a smart man, Mr. Johnson. I think I could learn a lot from you."

"Well, I'd be happy to help any aspiring salesman," Bill said smoothly.

Robert smiled. "Well, I suppose you could start by telling me why you decided to come to Mr. Wonka's factory today. The man's gates have been closed for years. I myself came because I was thinking that maybe no one goes in because no one ever knocked."

Bill shrugged. "It's possible."

"Were you going to try?"

"Are you afraid to do it yourself?"

"I'll do it if neither of you will," a new voice broke in. The two insurance salesmen turned around to see another man walking toward them, towing a large, wheeled bag. Bill suppressed a derisive snort. "Who are you?"

The man walked up to them, standing his bag on end. He extended a hand, first to Bill, then to Robert. "Name's Arthur T. Wilkinson. You can call me Art."

Robert looked him up and down, noting the man's brown suit and bowtie with some scepticism. "I trust you are a door to door salesman, Mr. Wilkinson?"

"Absolutely! And I suppose I could say the same of you two...funny how all we salesmen dress in similar outfits."

Bill was scrutinizing the large bag. "What business are you in, Art? I doubt Mr. Wonka has much need for a vacuum cleaner."

Art laughed. "This is no vacuum cleaner," he said as he patted the bag. "It's an automatic shoe shiner. I've heard how peculiar the man is when it comes to his wardrobe. And when one considers how much shy he is in regard to the public eye, I'm certain he would be more than happy to pay a pretty penny to have his shoes shined without having to step foot outside just to get it done."

Bill and Robert exchanged a glance.

"How interesting," another voice said, and the three salesmen looked to the side, to see yet another man dressed in a business suit, but his was dark blue and he was wearing a regular tie instead of a bow tie. His hair was dark grey and slicked back, and his features were sharp and thin. He was carrying a manila envelope, thick with papers of some kind. Art extended a hand. "Come to join our party?"

The man ignored him. "I am George Blackwell, with the London City Bank. I am here to discuss investment policies with Mr. Wonka, in light of his recent success. Now, if none of you will approach the gate, I will. Time is wasting, and time is money."

The other three men were taken aback by this other man's cold tone, and without a word they all stepped aside to let him pass. He pressed the intercom button on the wall beside the gate.

"Who is it?" a voice crackled.

"I and three others are here to see Mr. Wonka," George said. "I think we all have something for him to consider investing in."

There was a brief pause...perhaps the speaker was conversing with his employer...then the voice came back, thick with static. "He has agreed to meet with each of you. Please progress to the main entrance."

The large, wrought-iron gates swung open of their own accord, and the four men walked in. Their shoes clicked against the cobblestone walkway, and the wheels of Art's bag clattered loudly.

"Would you mind picking that up?" George said in irritation.

Art gave him a scathing look, but he grabbed the bag by its top handle and carried it like a duffel to the massive front doors. At their approach, the doors swung open, though no one stepped out to greet them. Without breaking stride, George stepped past the threshold. The other three followed him, a bit unnerved, and the doors closed behind them.

Once inside, each of the four men looked about themselves in curiosity. Like the rest of the facility, the foyer of the main building was ever changing. At the beginning of the company, the walls had been white with lavender trim, the floors made of periwinkle tile. Now, however, the walls were periwinkle with white trim, and the floors were made of lavender tile. The room itself was a large space that reached at least a dozen feet above the heads of the visitors, and was at least several meters in length. There were a number of corridors leading out from the foyer. Each one was painted a different color, and strange smells and sounds seemed to waft out of them, beckoning the visitors to wander deeper into the building.

"I don't think I like this," Robert muttered to Bill.

Bill nodded grimly in agreement.

Art was still looking around, his eyes bright with curiosity. He threw a glance behind himself when he overheard Robert muttering, and when he turned to look back toward the center of the room, he was surprised to see something he hadn't noticed before. In the middle of the big, empty chamber, was a large circular desk. He didn't see anyone sitting at it, but there was a little placard that read INFORMATION. Beside the placard was a silver bell.

"Look at this," Art said, abandoning his bag to approach the desk. The other men noticed his movement and followed him. Art came alongside the desk...it was up to waist...and he rang the bell. The chime seemed very loud in the open space, and it echoed off the walls and down the halls. Robert flinched.

"No one home," Bill said with a shrug.

George scoffed, shifting his envelope in his arms.

"Eh-hem." someone said from below, and the four men were surprised to see a tiny man sitting behind the desk, seated on top of phonebooks that had been stacked on his chair. He held up a clipboard and pen, gesturing to a paper that said SIGN IN.

"Oh," said Bill, as he accepted the pen and wrote his signature on the top line.

"Right," said Robert, hastily scribbling his name on the second line.

"Sure," said Art, neatly printing his name on the third line.

"Typical," said George, penning his name in neat script on the fourth line. He handed the clipboard and pen to the tiny man, who accepted them with a nod.

"If you don't mind my asking," Art said to the tiny man, "how long have you worked here?"

"Five years," the tiny man said, in a voice that was deeper than his size would have suggested. "My family works here, too. We're Oompa-loompas."

"Oompa what?" Robert cried incredulously.

"Oompa-loompas!" a new voice said from somewhere, echoing. A man stepped out from one of the colored hallways, wearing the strangest outfit the visitors had ever seen. He wore a white shirt, black vest, green bowtie, black trousers, brown loafers, a plum velvet jacket, lavender gloves, and a marvelous purple top hat. He walked toward the four men, gesturing toward the tiny man. "Oompa-loompas, he said again, quieter because he was standing right in front of them. "Imported directly from Loompaland."

"There's no such place," Robert said with a short laugh.

"Are you a geographer?" Mr. Wonka asked.

"No, I'm an insurance salesman."

"Well, then you don't know what you're talking about! Loompaland does exist; I've been there myself, though unfortunately the cartographer didn't survive the expedition. But that is a different story." He smiled brightly and looked at the other men. "What may I do for you gentlemen? It isn't often I get visitors. Nobody seems to come knocking anymore."

George stepped forward. "Mr. Wonka, my name is George Blackwell, and I..."

"Want to see the factory, of course!" Willy Wonka started walking toward one of the colored hallways. George stopped him.

"Actually, Mr. Wonka, we have some matters to discuss with you. I happen to be a businessman, associated with the stock market."

"I sell insurance," Bill said.

"As do I," Robert put in, a bit loudly.

"I, um...sell innovative equipment," Art said, looking down at his shoes in embarrassment.

Willy Wonka looked at each man in succession, bouncing from foot to foot, frowning slightly as if he could not make up his mind.

"Well," he said finally, "I'm afraid I am not familiar with the stock market, nor with insurance..." he looked at Art. "and I have plenty of innovative technology of my own." He brightened suddenly. "Of course, if you take a look at my factory, then perhaps you could suggest what I need."

George nodded. "Sounds like a fair idea, Mr. Wonka. Lead on."

Willy Wonka waved for them to follow him, and he rushed away at once toward one of the corridors at the far end of the room, this one colored a cheerful yellow. The four men followed after him, though Art made sure to pick up his bag on the way. when they were all gone, the Oompa-loompa looked around warily, then picked up a phone and dialed a number within the factory. A mischievous smile came to his face as he spoke his friend who was on the other end of the line.

"Guess what? Mr. Wonka has guests..."


	2. Chapter 2

Mr. Wonka led the four visitors through the yellow corridor, cheerfully explaining the layout of his factory. Every few moments the party would pass a colored door, words emblazoned in bronze across its surface.

"Mr. Wonka," Bill said, reading the words, "what's behind all these doors?"

Mr. Wonka halted in his tracks, turning to face the inquirer. "Behind these doors, gentlemen, are the places where I make a specific type of candy. Keeping the machines separate from each other means I can make peanut-free candy for people with peanut allergies, soy-free candy for people with soy allergies, and so on, while also being able to make candies with those ingredients for the rest of the people in the world." He gestured to the nearest door. "This room happens to be where I make caramel-dipped candies. Would you care to take a look?"

The four men exchanged a look.

"Of course," George said on all their behalf.

"Good!" Mr. Wonka pulled a large ring of keys from his pocket, and somehow managed to find the right one. He inserted it into the lock on the door and turned...there was a click, and the door swung inward. "Come along, then!" he said with a wave. "I am very proud of my caramel dipped candies!"

The CARAMEL DIPPED CANDIES ROOM was very different than the yellow corridor outside; the room was still painted a cheerful color, but the walls were mostly hidden from view by great lengths of pipes and wires. On the floor there were mounds of curious steaming machinery, huge vats filled with thick, bubbling liquid, and tables where dozens of Oompa-loompas sat, wrapping the candies. The Oompa-loompas were everywhere; Bill didn't doubt that there were at least a hundred of them in this cavernous space that was more a warehouse than a room. More of the tiny men were busily pushing carts laden with candies, standing at attention beside control panels, polishing the various machines.

"And this is just one room?" Art muttered to no one in particular. Mr. Wonka heard him.

"Of course! You can't expect me to make so many delicious candies in a room the size of a nursery! There wouldn't be enough of my candy to satisfy my customers if I did that!"

Robert was closely examining the machinery.

"Mr. Wonka, how much would you estimate the value of the machinery in this room?"

"Well..." the candymaker seemed to think hard for a moment. "The machines are unique; I built them myself. Speaking purely of material cost, I would say the value is about three hundred thousand pounds."

Robert pulled out a pen and pad of paper from his breast pocket, scribbling a note. "Then I suggest that you look into setting up insurance for your equipment, in the event you ever lose or damage your property." he handed Mr. Wonka the paper. The candymaker took it, then indifferently threw it over his shoulder. He turned on his heel, suddenly excited. "Come over here; I have something I must show you!" he led them over to a massive vat filled with a purplish treacle. It was thick and bubbling, and looked less like candy than it did toxic waste.

"This, gentlemen, is the beginning of a new line of caramels...purple caramels. They have a certain side effect, however...for some reason, they fill the consumer with a sense of daring and bravado. So, for now, this mixture is known as Dare-a-mels."

"That sounds like a good thing," Robert said. "Why don't you sell it as it is? I'm sure people would like to feel brave."

"No," Mr. Wonka said sadly. "The candy only makes the eater _feel_ brave. Real bravery comes from a person's heart, not from candy."

"Come on, Mr. Wonka," Robert insisted. "It would be great. Think of all the..."

"I said no," Mr. Wonka said firmly. "The last thing the world needs is a bunch of people running around with false bravado. There would be trouble all over the place!"

The candymaker turned away.

Robert decided it was an opportunity. "I'll show him..." The walls of the vat were as high as his chest, but with some difficulty he managed to reach in the top and pull out a handful of the oozy candy. It was warm, not hot enough to burn, but it stained the cuff of his jacket. No matter. He licked the stuff off his fingers, amazed at the creaminess of the caramel flavor. "This is delicious!"

His exclamation made Wonka whirl around, the candymaker's face pale. "What have you done?"

"I'm simply showing you how good your candy is," the salesman said with a smile, purple candy smeared across his chin. "See? No harm done."

"Not yet," Willy muttered under his breath.

"I feel fine," Robert said walking away from the vat. "In fact, I feel great!"

"Here it comes," Willy said to no in particular.

Robert broke out in song, the other three guests watching with mouths agape.

Robert, meanwhile, had the benefit of an Oompa-loompa orchestra that had assembled in anticipation of this moment. They played their instruments with Robert's ad-libbed song. It went something like this:

_I feel fine! In fact, I feel great!_

_I feel so fantastic, I must celebrate!_

_Never before have I felt joy like this,_

_Enveloped in bravery, enclosed in bliss!_

_Sometime before I lived like a coward;_

_Sometime ago I lived like a sheep,_

_But now a new bravery I have discovered,_

_Now there is nothing that could frighten me..._

_I'll take on the world, _

_Take on the whole world;_

_No more will I hide,_

_I will face strife with pride,_

_I will take death in stride,_

_Can't scare me, now that I'm free._

_Can't scare me, now that I'm..._

About halfway through the song, Robert had climbed up on some of the taller machinery, as if to prove his bravery. Oompa-loompas ducked and scurried to get out of his way, flashing rude hand gestures in his direction. They were all but ignored; Robert decided to use the moment to conquer his fear of heights. He started walking along a thin pipe that stretched between two of the taller machines, perhaps twenty feet up in the air. Below the pipe was an open vat of sugar water, the base ingredient for making caramel.

"Robert, get down from there!" Bill shouted. Robert continued to sing his song, and when he was about halfway, he turned to look down at his audience with pride. This proved to be his undoing; he slipped and lost his footing, falling from the pipe into the vat below. As the container's walls were made of a clear material, the onlookers were able to watch with horror as Robert flailed and floundered to the surface. Right about now the effect of the candy was wearing off, and bravado left Robert to be replaced with fear.

"Help!" he called, bobbing to the side of the vat. The walls were higher than he could reach, and his hands slipped against the inner surface of the wall. Mr. Wonka shook his head. "There goes a whole week's caramel production..."

"Mr. Wonka, you've got to help him!" Bill said. "You can't just let a man die in your factory...its illegal!"

"Well, I suppose you're right." he turned toward an Oompa-loompa and started to say something, only to be cut off as the Loompa-orchestra started playing an upbeat tune. Every Oompa-loompa in the room stopped whatever they were doing and started dancing in synchronization, as if every move had been choreographed.

"Oh, good!" Mr. Wonka said with a smile. "A performance. I'm sure you will like this, gentlemen. The Oompa-loompas are excellent entertainers."

_Robert Shoeman, we're sad to see_

_Decided to feign true bravery_

_And though his intentions were all well meant_

_They landed him in this predicament._

_If only he had listened, he_

_Would not now be in misery._

_But now, as he goes splash, splash, splash,_

_Every move he makes may be his last,_

_For how could Robby have known before_

_The many things we have in store_

_For him as he nears the reservoir drain?_

_(We're not sure ourselves, but we know there's pain)_

_Of course, though there is much to fear,_

_Bravery isn't the lesson here._

_Rather, it's obedience,_

_Usually that's common sense,_

_Which we hope you've learned through this song;_

_Now learn your lesson, and move along._

The orchestra finished, and all the Oompa-loompas returned to work. The three visitors, meanwhile, had watched with horror as the struggling Robert was sucked into a large drain at the bottom of the vat.

"Mr. Wonka!" Bill said, "Robert's gone!"

"Oh, dear," Willy said, cupping his chin in hand. He turned again to the Oompa-loompa who had been waiting patiently beside him. "Listen! You need to look in the storage tank for the carmelizer. Do it quickly, or the man will drown, or even worse...get poured into the boiler."

The tiny man chuckled nastily, then ran off toward a huge machine some distance away. Mr. Wonka turned toward the remaining men.

"Now you know why I can't sell that candy yet," he said sadly.

"I'm afraid Robert only proved your point," Bill said. His tone was subdued, but privately he was glad that he wouldn't have to compete with another insurance salesman.

"Well," Mr. Wonka said, gesturing back toward the outside corridor, "Let's move along."


	3. Chapter 3

He led his guests further along the yellow corridor. No longer were the marked doors as much of a curiosity as before. None of the businessmen said anything about them; in fact, they didn't say anything at all, allowing Mr. Wonka to explain various things, from the history of the Oompa-loompas to the eating habits of a London squirrel. Finally, he stopped again, this time in front of a door marked PEPPERMINTS.

"This one is of particular interest to me," Willy Wonka said proudly. "Mainly because of its innovative genius." he gestured to Art. "I'm sure you will appreciate this." He inserted the key into the lock and pushed open the door.

Three curious pairs of eyes stared through the doorway.

Fifty curious pairs of eyes stared back, all of them belonging to Oompa-loompas.

Just as in the CARAMEL DIPPED CANDIES ROOM, there were mounds of machinery here as well. But instead of the solid paint of the other room, there was a red and white color scheme played out on the walls, floors, even on the machines. Peppermint-striped pipes curled and twisted between machines, and large peppermint-striped mixing barrels rolled to make an almost hypnotizing sight.

"It _does_ look innovative," Art murmured to himself in awe. Mr. Wonka beamed.

"Told ya. All the candies manufactured in this room are peppermint flavored and peppermint striped...hard peppermints, peppermint gum, peppermint saltwater taffy, peppermint..."

"Pardon my interruption, Mr. Wonka," George cut in, "But perhaps you would like to create stock for your company. Innovations like this," he encompassed the room with a wave of his hand, "would surely have crowds of businessmen investing in your company." he attempted an assuring smile. "I may not look like it, Mr. Wonka, but I am a good judge of character...and from what I have seen so far, you are eccentric, but also a genius." he pulled a business card from the manila envelope and handed it to Wonka.

"My business card," he explained. "Take a while to consider my offer, and call me later."

The candymaker looked over both sides of the card and threw it away. An Oompa-loompa picked it up and shoved it in his own pocket.

George pretended not to have noticed.

"Mr. Wonka," he said, pointing to a particularly strange specimen of machine, "What does this do?"

Willy glanced at the machine and broke into a smile. "Why, that is the mixing barrel that makes the coloring for my peppermints!"

"Mixing barrel?" the others echoed.

"Yes, yes," Willy said, as if in impatience. "Don't you know that to get peppermint pattern, you have to mix red and white? There's no other way!"

"But Mr. Wonka," Bill said, "If you mix red and white, you get pink."

"Nonsense!" the candyman cried. "Watch." He slid back a metal panel on the side of the mixing barrel. Behind it was a glass window that let the men see what was inside. And, surely enough, there was a body of liquid that was peppermint-striped...there was no pink anywhere.

"See?" Mr. Wonka said.

"By Jove, he's right," Art said.

"Incredible," Bill said.

"Psh," George said. The businessman left the side of the mixing barrel to walk among the other machines. The smell of peppermint was lying heavily in the air, and suddenly he felt hungry. He glanced at his wristwatch, startled to see that it was already lunchtime.

"Well, no matter," he said to himself. "There's plenty of food here." He walked along until he came upon a human-sized table, upon which rested a number of small, circular peppermints. Surely _Mr. Wonka wouldn't mind if I took just one_, he thought to himself. He picked on up and popped it in his mouth.

"...and this is where we make candy canes for the Christmas season," Willy was explaining to Bill and Art. He hadn't noticed George wandering off, or pretended not to have noticed. But when a blood-curdling cry pierced the air, Willy froze, his face taking on an ashen pallor.

"George!" Bill and Art both said in unison.

"Come on, Mr. Wonka!" They took the candymaker by the cuff of his sleeves and rushed toward the source of the scream. It would have been difficult to navigate the maze of red and white machinery, had it not been for the black smoke curling up toward the ceiling. George Blackwell, it seemed, had burst into flames.

The three men arrived at the scene in time to witness a host of firefighting-loompas rushing into the room, large cans of compressed carbon dioxide on their backs. They sprayed the burning, screaming mass that was George, then stepped back as the flames ceased. Their task complete, they moved aside to make way for a team of EMTs, also Oompa-loompas, to roll the burn victim onto a low stretcher and cart him away.

"What happened to him?" Art asked quietly.

Mr. Wonka shook his head. "Undoubtedly, Mr. Blackwell discovered my experimental hot pepper mints. Unfortunately, I still have the mixture wrong; it's way too hot. So hot, it usually causes the consumer to spontaneously combust." he sighed. "I knew I should have put them in the INVENTING ROOM instead."

"Mr. Wonka..." Bill started to say, but he was drowned out as music started playing from nowhere and the Oompa-loompas broke out into another song.

_George Blackwell, the man of stock_

_Has just been through a tragic shock_

_And he has learned a sacred rule_

_That he should have been taught in school._

_Not to drift, not to wander,_

_Not to take, just to ponder,_

_Not to touch, not to taste_

_Not to move things from their place_

_Without permission from the boss,_

_Who knows the danger, knows the loss_

_That could result from candy ingested,_

_Because the product is yet untested._

_Sadly now, we must admit,_

_That we played a small part in it._

_But we thought the man a liar;_

_That's why we let him stay on fire,_

_And treated the dubious George Blackwell_

_To a little taste of his personal hell._


	4. Chapter 4

Willy Wonka was tight-lipped as he led the two salesmen out of the PEPPERMINTS ROOM. No doubt he was considering how to deal with the Oompa-loompas later on. When he had told them about subtlety, they had seemed to understand...perhaps he hadn't been clear enough. He contemplated this silently as he led the way back into the yellow hall.

"Mr. Wonka," Art said, smiling sheepishly, are there any restrooms nearby? I'm afraid I drank too much tea this morning."

Willy Wonka came back to reality. "I'm sorry...of course. He pointed toward a smaller passageway, that was marked by a placard that read RESTROOMS in both English and some other language that Art assumed was Loompanese. He nodded gratefully to the candymaker and walked quickly toward the restroom.

Willy Wonka turned toward Bill, who was carefully regarding the door on the opposite side of the hallway. It read SOLIDS ROOM.

"What is that?" he asked the candymaker. Willy shrugged. "It's only where I make the most delectable hard candies," he said, as if it was no big deal. Apparently the ordeal in the last room had checked his enthusiasm somewhat.

"Do you mind if we take a peek?" Bill asked. "I have yet to contribute a recommendation."

Willy Wonka smiled lightly. "Very well. As you wish."

The SOLIDS ROOM was much like the PEPPERMINTS ROOM...however, the color scheme was much easier on the eyes, solids instead of stripes. And instead of the great metal mixing barrels, these ones were completely clear to allow the viewer to see the translucent colored juices roiling inside of the barrel. There were also tall cylindrical vats of unknown function...Willy Wonka carefully avoided passing them by without explaining them. And everywhere, as there had been in the other rooms, were dozens of Oompa-loompas.

"How many of them are there?" Bill asked Wonka.

The candymaker shrugged again. "I don't really know. Thousands by now. They're very family oriented, you know. Love kids. That's why they like making candy."

Bill nodded. "Do you supply insurance for them, for their families?"

"I..." Willy shook his head. "I always assumed giving them shelter and food and a job was enough. There's more?"

"It's a policy that ensures that the families are provided for in case the main worker of the household is in an accident or contracts an illness, or dies." He scribbled the details on a sticky note and handed them to the candymaker. This time, Willy kept the note, stowing it in some hidden pocket in his velvet jacket. "I suppose I will consider it," Willy said slowly. "I like to protect my workers, and my factory. They're like family to me."

"That's good," Bill said with a nod, unaware of the Oompa-loompas, who were stepping closer to him with every word that was spoken. Suddenly, they moved forward and seized the startled man by the ankles, tripping him. He struggled and yelled, but to no avail. The Oompa-loompas tied his hands and ankles, then proceeded to drag their comparatively larger prisoner toward the strange, cylindrical vats. Mr. Wonka followed them, standing above Bill so that the prisoner could see him.

"I'm terribly sorry about this," Willy said, his voice honest. "But there's really no other way; I can't let you out of my factory. Not yet. The world is not ready to learn my secrets, so I cannot have you or your companions out to blab my secrets to everyone else." he seemed genuinely apologetic. "I'm sorry."

"So that was the reason the other two met those horrible fates? Robert? George?" He struggled against his bindings, but was unable to move. He settled for scowling. "They're dead, aren't they? And now you're going to kill me in some horrid way as well!"

Willy Wonka smiled. "As a matter of fact, I'm _not_ going to kill you. Nor will the Oompa-loompas...or at least, they'll try not to. Fortunately for you, I rather like you. So I'm going to let you have the honor of testing a new sort of cryosleep." He chuckled. "I could spend hours explaining the process to you, but that is time I don't have. Your other friend will be done soon, and I have a proposition for him."

"Don't you dare hurt him!" Bill snarled. For some reason he felt more afraid for Art than for himself.

"Don't worry yourself about that," Willy assured him. "I have no desire to harm him; I want to hire him. Now, I believe you have a date with the Oompa-loompas." Willy tipped his hat and turned to leave, but not before the Oompa-loompas sang their song:

_Bill Johnson, the insurance man_

_Has done everything that he can_

_To establish, to ensure_

_That poverty might have a cure_

_However, he was slow to learn_

_That all the money that we earn_

_Is paid not in bills or cash_

_Or coins or paper that will not last._

_Rather, we are paid in FOOD!_

_In CANDIES and CHOCOLATE that taste so good!_

_And all our needs are forever supplied;_

_We get CLOTHING and SHELTER and FOOD till we die,_

_And even our children are benefited,_

_None of our assets are ever omitted._

_So sadly, dear Bill, we find you unneeded,_

_Despite the fact that you had so heeded_

_The manners expected by our master and friend._

_We're sorry, dear Johnson, but your song must now end."_

The Oompa-loompas carried Bill to one of the cylindrical tanks. One Oompa-loompa, dressed in the blue coveralls of a technician, typed a command into the adjacent console. The wall of the tank slid open; The Oompa-loompas forced Bill to his feet and shoved him in. The technician pushed a button, and the clear wall of the tank slid back into place. Trapped, Bill pounded against the side of the tank, screaming inaudible obscenities. Willy Wonka watched him for a moment, then motioned to the technician.

"Do it."

The Oompa-loompa pressed another button, and the tank began to fill with a clear, green liquid, rising rapidly as air was drawn out from the top of the tank. Bill panicked, and tried to suck in a deep breath, but the liquid rose over his head before he got the opportunity. His thrashing movements slowed, until they stopped entirely. The liquid in the tank solidified, and Johnson was trapped, petrified in a mass of hard candy. Wonka smiled in satisfaction. "That should be it."

"What should I do with him?" The Loompa-technician asked.

"Put him in storage," Wonka said lightly. "That's what you did with the Girl Scouts, right? Besides, it's not like he'll suffocate. That's the beauty of oxygenated hard candy."

The Oompa-loompa nodded. "Yes, sir.


	5. Chapter 5

Art walked out of the restroom, feeling quite relieved. When he saw that no one was waiting for him out in the hall, however, he began to grow worried...until Mr. Wonka appeared, smiling. "Ah, Mr. Art. Feeling better?"

"Yes, sir...I am. But, uh...where is Bill?"

"He needed to go," Wonka said with a shrug. "I let him out the front door."

"I see." The salesman regarded his hands for a moment. "And what of the others?"

"Don't worry about them," Wonka said. "My Oompa-loompas tell me that Mr. Shoeman was recovered and revived, and Mr. Blackwell is in pain, but he will survive. They will be transported to the hospital shortly."

Art sighed, relieved. "That's good." The two men stood, silence stretching awkwardly until Wonka finally spoke. "I have a proposition for you, Art. Suppose you come work for me? I could always use another man skilled at technological innovation."

Art coughed in embarrassment. "I'm not really that good, Mr. Wonka."

"Come now," Willy said. "Surely you wouldn't have come if you hadn't had a good innovation to sell. That bag there, for example...what's in it?" he pointed to the bag that Art had been towing around the whole time.

"It's, um...an automated shoe shiner, Mr. Wonka."

The candymaker beamed. "I could definitely use one." he made a point of looking down at his shoes, which had become scuffed from all the walking he had done today.

"But to be one of your workers..." Art protested, "I'm not good enough!"

Wonka laid a hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Wilkinson, no one is good enough until they decide they are. Whether you are or not, I want you to work for me." He glanced over his shoulder, to see several Oompa-loompas watching him. "I've been the only giant here for too long." He extended his hand. Art grabbed it in a firm handshake. "It will be an honor to join you, sir."

Willy Wonka smiled. "The honor is all mine."


End file.
